Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor
by Lydoodle
Summary: Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief. Because everyone has something to hide. Part 1 of 8. Part 1: Tinkering is the process of adapting, meddling or adjusting something in the course of making repairs or improvements. And Stark has the audacity to ask Barton why he has such unusual arrows. Not really a specific genre.


_Tinker_

_Verb: attempt to repair or improve something in a casual or desultory way_

_Clint Barton/Hawkeye_

It was clear to all the Avengers, as well as his colleagues at S.H.I.E.L.D, that Clint Barton possessed a very unique and useful talent; every shot he made was made with a purpose, and Clint ensured its arrival with unnerving accuracy. No one questioned how he did it and, in reality, there truly was no explanation which would satisfy such an inquiry. Of course, that message never got through to Tony Stark.

"It can't be _that_ hard to teach me how to do. Come on!" It certainly _sounded _like Tony was pleading, but he wasn't - honestly - as he watched the Hawk shoot an arrow straight through the one he'd previously shot into the target. Barton smirked at the look on Tony's face when the latter arrow split perfectly in half, reminding himself to ask JARVIS to email him the CCTV footage so he could laugh at it with all the others and then laugh at it again on his own when he got back to his room.

"For a man with such an impressive shooting range in his own home, I'm surprised you can't use a bow already. Not that I wouldn't recommend it," he slapped the older man's bicep playfully as he walked past to retrieve the ruined arrows, "It requires a lot of upper body strength, and you could do with a bit more meat on those chicken wings."

"Hey, I only built this room for you to use! It was the only way to get you to live permanently in this bloody building..." Tony grumbled the last statement, before snorting at Barton's latter comment. "And I don't _need_ the bulky, suspiciously tanned and, frankly, unnaturally oily arms to help me with anything I excel at. Unless, of course, that's how you get such a good shot - by stunning your opponent with the glare of the sun when you catch it on your skin."

Clint raised his eyebrows at the other end of the range, calmly removing the arrows and replacing the cardboard target with a fresh one as Stark prattled on. "You know, I always thought the lack of sleeves on your combat gear was to boost your own self-confidence and not to actually help you do your job-"

"-which is good coming from a man who has to don a pile of metal as 'combat gear' in order to make any significant impact on every and any opponent-"

"-which is good coming from one of the world's most famous billionaires because I only have to 'don' a couple of _pounds_ of highly developed, mind-boggling nano-technological material, with built-in, self-designed weaponry, which means I don't have to spend pointless hours of my life body building. Instead, I can spend that time wisely and in better company because my suit does all it needs to do for me."

Clint raised his eyebrows as he walked back towards Tony. "Do I have to remind you that without your suit you're useless in physical combat?" He grinned then, continuing, "Do you remember that time when we were having an arm wrestling contest, and Natasha-"

"We can't include a woman in this-"

"She beat you hands down - literally."

"Yeah, yeah, lover boy, we get it; you're proud of her. But I still think she cheated somehow." Clint rolled his eyes and watched as Tony made to leave."Waaaait a minute," Stark twisted back around as he reached the door, one finger-pointing, "I have a bone to pick with you."

"Oh Lord."

Tony marched back and plucked the spent arrow out of Clint's hands. "These, uh, these are your normal arrows, yeah?"

"Uh-huh." Clint watched uncertainly as Tony observed the thin shaft of carbon-fibre.

"So you couldn't, say, blow up something with one of these?"

"Evidently."

"And _yet,_" Tony scrunched his face up, tapping his chin mockingly in thought with the arrow in question, "I seem to recall that you blow up a hell of a lot of stuff when you're called in." Stark tilted is head to one side. "How'd you explain that, Legolas?"

Clint barked a laugh at Tony's 'pwned' face. "Oh, I see where this is going."

"You're accusing me of using my technology to an unfair advantage, yet here _you_ are, using S.H.I.E.L.D's 'Inspector Gadget' arrows to make your job a breeze."

Stark watched Barton's face with wide, innocent eyes and pouted lips for a sign of resolve, maybe a bit of embarrassment. When the archer glared, however, it was Tony who ended up feeling slightly embarrassed, for apparently no reason.

"'S.H.I.E.L.D's arrows'." Clint repeated quietly.

"That... that is what I said, wasn't it?" Tony laughed quickly, though he still took one step back and scratched his head awkwardly with the tip of the arrow. "You know, these arrows aren't actually like anything on Inspector Gadget in any way-"

The rambling was abruptly cut off.

"Do you_ seriously_ think the only thing I'm good at is- huh..." Clint rubbed his face wearily, "'S.H.I.E.L.D's arrows...'", a wry smile appeared on his face when he looked back and Stark, who was most definitely not intimidated. Tony certainly didn't stop Barton when he approached him, or when he started speaking again. "You know what they're like over there - anything that belongs to S.H.I.E.L.D has their name stamped all over it. I'd like you to consider that."

Clint walked out of the room then, without waiting for a reply; Tony looked down at the arrow in his hand as he heard the door open and close behind him, observing for the first time that the arrow was completely bare of any mark except of those from its days of action. A second passed, before Stark was chuckling at the realisation and running out of the door.

"You _made _these things?!"

Clint froze, closing his eyes and smiling to himself briefly, before continuing down the hallway, "I prefer to think that I improved them."

"You have to tell me _everything!" _Tony shouted down the hall at Barton's retreating figure, walking fast to catch up and chuckling again - this time with more relief - as the man turned around and grinned wickedly. But the smile was genuine. Barton was finally able to talk to someone who was genuinely interested in the work he could do, in the hobby he had kept secret from everyone, and in the objects that truly defined him.

"Where would you like me to begin?"


End file.
